In which six out of seven plane flights make me happy (this is about no. 7)

The first person who accuses me of whining about #firstworldproblems will be stabbed. That, my friend, will then be your first world problem.

I’m here to whine about air travel. In the past 10 days I have spent a lot of time on planes. (Taking an annual vacation is not a crime, people!)

Here is a list of airlines I used:

Air Canada (twice)

Austrian Air (twice)

Turkish Air (twice)

Gershwin Air (not its real name)

Most stuff went right, and not all the stuff that went wrong was the fault of an airline (cough gershwin air cough). But let’s take a for instance. Yesterday, we flew Turkish Air to London Heathrow. The plane, no surprise, parked at a gate.

We were then marched all around Heathrow through security and heaven knows what else, for what had to be, literally, miles. The why of this is mystifying: We’d been through security and whatever in Istanbul and we’d had no contact with anyone but passengers. “A nation of shopkeepers,” I muttered, in doubtless my most un-PC mutterance ever.

The joke completed itself when we dragged ourselves to our Gershwin Air flight, only to find it parked right next to our old plane. Not kind of next to. Exactly next to.

Then came our 10+ hour flight from London to Houston. Now, I recognize that the mission of national airlines such as Austrian or Turkish is, at least in part, to sell you on their real product: their country. They do a crackerjack job. The service is impeccable and the food and drink are ample, tasty and free. The tomatoes on Turkish Air were shockingly ripe. Even the alcohol was free, mes amis.

Then we got on Gershwin Air. The factory-fresh 787 stands as a modern marvel, even if the self-darkening windows are a creepy form of mind control. Shortly, we were served tiny packets of cheese and crackers (two crackers total). Soon after, we were served microwaved meals (mine purported to be manicotti) and cold rolls, with drinks (wine was free). I think there was another batch of drinks down the line, and snack boxes you could purchase, and later, a tiny and nasty microwaved sandwich.

Gershwin Air did manage to get to Houston safely, for which I am grateful.